


Shallow Draco

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Post-Hogwarts, Shallow Hal - Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14065356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: When Draco Malfoy is cursed to see only inner beauty, he finds Hermione Granger to be the most beautiful woman in the world. How utterly predictable. Dramione. One-shot.





	Shallow Draco

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My first one-shot! This little idea came about when I caught a part of the movie Shallow Hal on TV. I’m sure it’s been done before, but, anyway, here’s my take on it! I had a lot of fun (also, a lot of wine) while writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. And Shallow Hal belongs to some big movie studio.

**Shallow Draco**

There are certain standards one must adhere to when one is a Malfoy.  Dress robes are always bespoke, and shoes be made of the rarest and softest of dragonhide.  The cuisine must be French, almost exclusively, except when it comes to pasta, of course, for which one must rely solely on Italian fare.  The manor must be the grandest of manors, run by house elves that are the most self-effacing of all magical creatures.

When it comes to women, expectations are extraordinary.  Malfoy partners must be well-mannered, educated, and, most importantly, breathtakingly beautiful.  Three things that Pansy Parkinson, unfortunately, lacks – at least, when measured against the Malfoys’ fist-class yardstick.

Which is why, when Draco found her waiting – once again – in his bedroom, uninvited, he spared her no mercy.  He heard her yell things, like, _Fuck you, Draco Malfoy_ , and, _You’ll pay for this, you sorry bastard_ – her normal script for these bimonthly occurrences – as he pushed her into the fireplace to send her anywhere else.

After she was finally gone, he quickly undressed to his silk boxers and dove into his emerald-green bedding – also silk – and slept in style.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

Among the many powers that came with running Malfoy Enterprises, Draco’s favorite must be the authority to hire his personal secretary.  He’s gone through too many to count, at this point, as most of them were often eager to go above and beyond the original job description, and then afterward be completely insufferable.

The pool of candidates usually includes former models of print advertisement and aspiring stage actresses.  It took Draco by great surprise when this morning’s interviews were filled with women ranging from unattractive to hideous to downright revolting.

His nine o’clock interview had a beak for a nose and one continuous line of fur above her eyes.  Nine-thirty’s face was tinged an unsightly orange, which at least distracted from the large wart – from which grew one, very long hair – on her chin.  His ten o’clock had a five o’clock shadow and hair coming out of her nose and ears; he briefly considered going to the Ministry to report a werewolf sighting.

When his ten-thirty came in, with her sleek, strawberry-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosebud lips, he immediately hired her on the spot.  He didn’t even give her a chance to tell him her name; he was afraid that if the interviews continued, he wouldn’t be able to stomach his lunch.

And today, his personal chef prepared confit de canard, and there was no way he was missing that.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

“Draco?” he heard a hesitant voice, and he looked up to see Blaise Zabini cautiously enter his office.  “I see you’ve hired a new secretary.”

Draco gave him a self-satisfied smile.  “Ah, so you’ve met the stunning Bernice.”

“If by ‘stunning,’ you mean, ‘ow, my eyes, make it stop!’” said Blaise, “then, yes, Draco, I _have_ met the stunning Bernice.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed.  “What do you mean, Blaise?  Did she,” he paled, “forget to put on make-up?”

“I’m not sure that would make a difference, mate,” Blaise said slowly.

Both men went to the door and opened it just a crack to glimpse the new secretary.  Draco could see her head bent over the desk, her perfectly coifed hair gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the crystal window, as she answered the morning’s pile of owl posts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Zabini,” said Draco.  “She looks just fine to me.”

Blaise glanced at him curiously.  “Really?  We’re looking at the same thing, here, right?  That…girl…behind the desk?  The desk in front of the lift?  The person sitting in the chair behind it?”

“There’s only one person in that entire hallway, Blaise, and yes, I see her,” Draco said impatiently.  “Now, what is your problem?”

Blaise’s entire demeanor became serious.  “Owl Nott.  Now.”

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

Three pairs of eyes peered through the crack of the mahogany door.

After a few moments, Theo Nott looked at his friend worryingly.  He put a hand up against Draco’s forehead to check for fever; it was promptly swatted away in frustration.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

“She’s ugly,” Snape drawled.  He was scowling at the welcome desk, where Draco’s secretary was taking her lunch and eating a pickle sandwich.  “I’m not lecturing you on finally growing up and moving on from your shallow ideals, but I fear you may have,” Snape paused to consider what to say next, “over-corrected.”

Draco groaned into his hands, which were both covering his face.  “It’s not my fault, Severus.  When I look at her, I see a beautiful woman.  And I’m not being deliberately romantic, I _literally_ see an attractive woman with radiant skin and legs from here to Dover.”

Severus Snape scrutinized his godson’s face and quickly waved his wand over him.  “I see,” he said, gravely.

“Ugh, what?” Draco asked petulantly.

“You’ve been cursed,” Snape replied monotonously.

“No fucking kidding,” he muttered, and with a louder voice, “With what curse?”

Snape didn’t bother to hide his irritation.  “I don’t know, Draco, and until you figure out who did this to you, I won’t be able to help you reverse it.”

Draco’s groan of frustration echoed to the mailroom two floors down.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

“That one,” said Draco, pointing to the sexy blonde by the wall.

“Crater face,” said Blaise.

“Her,” he said, directing his gaze to a striking woman sitting in a darkened booth.

“No chin,” replied Theo.

“The girl sitting alone at the bar?” asked Draco.

“Oh!  One, two, three…huh, four chins,” said Blaise, and seemed to say to himself, “Didn’t think that was possible.”

It took the three of them another hour – and some brave reconnaissance by Blaise and Theo – to determine the curse’s pattern.

It didn’t matter what the woman looked like on the outside.  If she was good, kind, and benevolent, Draco could only see beauty.  And if she was vain, cruel, and unpleasant – well, then, she just looked like a downright mess.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

Draco didn’t know what to make of his life anymore.  Pretty was ugly, at least that’s what his friends and most trusted advisors told him, and it made him question the rest of his reality.  Could he no longer rely on his other senses?  Was that rich crème brulee he had for dessert actually just old, putrid egg yolks?  Were his favorite silk sheets really just low thread count cotton that scratched his skin and tangled his sleek locks?

He didn’t know anymore; black was white, up was down, nothing in the world made sense!

He was glaring at the box of macarons on his desk – the ones that he _thought_ were delicious, but now he was not quite _sure_ anymore – when a knock on his door jolted him out of his reverie.  His two o’clock was here, the new liaison from the Patent Office of the Ministry; he bade his guest to enter.

Draco stifled his gasp, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide as he saw a woman he hasn’t even thought about in seven years.

Her caramel curls, which fell in smooth waves, were streaked with the richest honey.  Her large, warm brown eyes held flecks of the most vibrant gold.  Her skin, lightly tanned, glowed like lamplight, and her sweet, sweet mouth was a bee-stung pout under a perfect cupid’s bow.

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  With his curse-colored sight, _of course_ Hermione Granger would be bloody gorgeous.  How utterly predictable.

“Malfoy?” Granger said, noticing his grumpy disposition.  Her voice invoked something between a heavenly choir and a baby’s first laugh; it made him grit his teeth.

“Don’t just stand there, Granger,” he said rancorously, as he gestured to the armchair in front of his desk.  “We’ve got a lot to cover, and you’re already wasting my time.”

She sat down gracefully and crossed her legs at her dainty ankles, just below her perfectly-shaped calves.

Draco sighed in irritation.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

After three weeks of seeing Granger every day – his Research and Development Division was very robust, and they requested a lot of patents – Draco found that he no longer minded her presence.

She was much more fun to be around than he remembered.  Not that he was around her very much when they were in school, but he thought that she might have been obstinate and pig-headed; one would have to be, in order to stomach being friends with Potter and Weasley.

But, no, she was actually quite lovely, and Draco found her very agreeable.  He was starting to see why the curse made her look so exquisite; just for putting up with Potter and Weasley all these years, the curse automatically made her out to be the most beautiful witch in all of England.  And if one added up all the rest of her charities and good works – S.P.E.W., werewolf rights, and being able to tell the difference between those annoying Weasley twins – well, his cursed sight made her the most beautiful witch in the world.  Which she probably was, deep down, on the inside.

Which is why Draco, upon their last meeting for the fiscal quarter, asked her out to dinner.  She said yes.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

As he escorted Hermione to their table at the posh Greek restaurant in Diagon Alley – yes, _Greek food_ , he was throwing all caution to the wind, now – he couldn’t help but notice the other patrons already sitting in the establishment. 

They were all rudely gaping at Draco and Hermione – some even conspicuously pointing and whispering as the two of them walked past.

“Don’t mind them,” Hermione murmured, a warm blush on her delicate cheekbones.  “People usually act like this whenever I go out on a date.  It probably doesn’t help that you’re, you know, _Draco Malfoy_.  People don’t expect us to get along.”

“Of course,” Draco said, generously.  He knew better, though; he knew all these heartless bastards were making fun of her – probably plain?  Even as a child, he didn’t really think she was _ugly_ – features.  

Standing next to him must have thrown her plainness in even sharper relief.

He felt his blood boil with rage.  How _dare_ these people judge her by her looks?  Shouldn’t they know by now how wonderful she is?  How brilliant?  How munificent?

He straightened his spine and held her closer to himself.  As they walked through the restaurant, he displayed her proudly on his arm.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

They stood on the steps in front of her flat.  They had just returned from their latest date – in _Muggle_ London, he was pleased to admit.

At the end of their first date, he gave her a gentlemanly kiss on the hand.  After their second, a lingering kiss on the cheek.  Right now, Draco thought to kiss her on the lips, and from her obvious loitering at her doorstep, Hermione looked like she would welcome it.

Most of him wanted to kiss her, but there was a very small part that hesitated.  Yes, she was easy on the eyes _now_ , but what’s going to happen once Snape inevitably found a counter-curse?  Is this burning attraction to her going to go away once the magic is gone?

She was leaning forward, obviously impatient with his inaction, and taking matters in her own, elegant hands. 

He closed his eyes, thinking about the last time he had seen her, at graduation, and in his mind, superimposed that image on the Hermione standing with him now.

He pictured her bushy, frizzy hair.  It was ridiculous hair, really.  But he remembered the times in Potions as she worked over a hot cauldron, the steam making her hair look almost sentient in its full-bodied presence.  He smiled warmly at the thought.

He pictured her eyes, a flat, muddy brown, from what he could recall.  But, then, he remembered how her eyes flashed to life when she thought she knew an answer to a question in class.  He remembered the light that was there when she laughed at something Weasley said; he remembered the mischief in them when she was breaking school rules with Potter.

He pictured her lips, remembering how she liked to chew on them whenever she was reading, which was often.  He can imagine that they’re probably dry and chapped by now.  But then he remembered how those lips could recite the ingredients of the Draught of Living Death with ease, and he suddenly – uncontrollably – found himself eagerly pressing his lips to hers.

She matched his enthusiasm, and leaned further into him, deepening the kiss.  Several minutes later, they reluctantly broke apart.  Draco opened his eyes, and he was almost disappointed with what he saw.  She was still curse-beautiful; breathtaking to look at, but a façade nonetheless.

He silently wished for an end to the curse, so that he could kiss the Hermione under the magic.  The plain one.  The one he remembered.

\--ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

He was nervous when he brought her to Malfoy Manor. 

They had been dating for almost two months now, and they had been getting along splendidly.  He was still under the damned curse, but, over time, he was able to ignore its effects.  And the more time he spent with her, the more time he _wanted_ to spend with her.

Now, he just had to get everyone else on board with their relationship; and if they’re not, he would gladly tell them to shut the fuck up.

He decided to get all the introductions done in one fell swoop, at least, on his side.  They had been very careful to avoid the press when they went on dates – they were still technically working together, after all, and they wanted to avoid career-halting scandals – so no one knew that they were seeing each other.

Thus, the reason why he invited Blaise, Theo, and Snape to dine with him and his parents.  And Hermione, of course.

When she first entered the room, everyone froze.  Shock and awe were evident on everyone’s faces, and Draco glared at them all until they schooled their features to polite indifference.

When she left to go to the powder room – Draco directed the house elf to take her to the one clear across the manor to buy him some time – he turned to his family and friends.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Draco started austerely.  “She’s not the type of woman I’ve dated in the past, but I want you all to know that she’s here to stay.”

“Mate –”

“No, Blaise, let me finish,” Draco said sternly.  “I know what you all probably see when you look at her, but I don’t care.  She’s amazing.”

“Draco—”

“Severus, please,” Draco interrupted.  “I don’t care anymore whether you find the cure to this curse or not.  It doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’ll be looking at any other woman.”

“Son –”

“Father,” he said, firmly.  “She’s my match.  Well, all right, probably not physically, but she’s my match in every other way; in every way that counts.  My decision is final.”

He looked grimly at every single person in the room.  “Now, will you accept things and move on, or are we going to have a problem?”

After a few moments, in which they all made eye contact with one another, they turned back to him and gave a collective shrug.

 --ʛ--ʛ--ʛ--

_One Year Later_

Pansy Parkinson watched the couple dancing in the middle of the ballroom.  They were wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing adoringly at each other.  He was dressed in sleek black, she, in immaculate white; together, they were a sight to behold.

As Pansy sat at the guest table with a small, self-indulgent smile on her face, she saw movement at the corner of her eye.

“How long is the curse supposed to last?” Blaise Zabini asked, as he sat down next to her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The curse,” said Blaise.  “The one you put on Draco.  How long is it supposed to last?”

Pansy smirked.  “How did you know it was me?”

Blaise rolled his eyes.  “It wasn’t that hard to deduce, Pansy.  I figured it out after a few weeks, but by then, well…,” he gestured to the couple on the dance floor with a wicked grin, “ _this_ was already starting to happen.”

Pansy laughed.  “The curse will last until I take it off him.”

“Are you planning on ever doing that?”

“Does it even matter, at this point?”

“No,” Blaise snickered.  “I guess not.”

Pansy smiled, and there was a moment’s pause before she asked, “Do you think he’ll ever figure it out?”

“What?”

“That the curse only works on the people he has met _after_ I put the spell on him?”

“Oh, you mean, that the curse has never affected his perception of Hermione?” asked Blaise.

Pansy glanced back at the happy couple.  “And that Hermione might actually be the _pretty_ one in the relationship?”

Blaise blanched.  “Oh gods, don’t tell him _that_.  His ego will collapse.  His head _will_ implode if he finds out.”

 

**_FIN_ **

****

 

 

               

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hope you liked it! I’d appreciate reviews!  
> If you liked this, please check out my other story Dramione stories: “Wingman,” and “Mrs. Azkaban.” Thank you!


End file.
